


breaking your guitar (means falling in love)

by bail



Category: American Idol RPF, David Cook (Musician)
Genre: Aladdin (Disney) - Freeform, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternative Universe - Disney, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:37:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bail/pseuds/bail
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave never expected to find love in an abandoned house, yet when he accidentally runs into Archie and manages to break his guitar in the process that is exactly what happens. Aladdin!AU fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	breaking your guitar (means falling in love)

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** David Cook, David Archuleta and et al. belong to themselves. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
>  **A/N 1:** This is a modern-day version of _Aladdin_ , although it’s not as _Aladdin_ as I would have liked it to be. However, I hope you like it regardless. I owe a big thanks to [aohatsu](http://aohatsu.livejournal.com/) for helping me with the beta’ing and encouragement. Without Kristie, this fic would probably never have been finished.
> 
>  **A/N 2:** The fic was originally posted over at [disneycookleta](http://disneycookleta.livejournal.com/). You can find it [here](http://disneycookleta.livejournal.com/6052.html). The story can also be read at my [fic journal](http://bail.livejournal.com/8372.html) over at livejournal.

There are some days – especially when it rains or snows, or if it’s incredible windy – where standing on a street corner and trying to convey your musical talents to the public kind of sucks. Today, however, is not such a day. In fact, it’s a brilliant kind of day. The sun is shining, which always seems to lift the mood, the streets are filled with tourists, and Dave has already managed to get thirty-two bucks in his guitar case. Granted, twenty of it was from the store manager three streets over who had paid him to go away, but still. It’s more than he had two hour ago, so who cares how he got it?

He smiles as a Japanese tourist throws a couple of coins into the case, the metal hitting the other coins that already lie inside it. She lifts her camera, indicating that she wants to take a picture, and he nods, silently letting her know it’s okay.

While busking his way through the streets and the underground, he’s found that tourists love taking pictures. Andy thinks it’s because they’re hoping to capture an image of someone who might become famous one day; somebody they can say – _Oh hey, I met him before he was famous!_ – and Dave kind of hopes that it’s true, because it would mean that other people can see something great in him.

The blitz from the camera momentarily blinds him and his fingers linger over a string on his guitar, dragging out the note far longer than he should. The tourist smiles and takes another picture of him. This time Dave is prepared for it, and a couple of seconds later, the lone blitz is followed by a dozen or more Japanese tourists snapping away pictures of him like he’s somebody. A few of them even buy his self-made CD although he doubts they understand much of the songs.

He’s in the middle of exchanging a CD for some money when two policemen round the corner. They’re far enough away that they haven’t spotted him yet, but he knows from experience that it’s just a matter of time. Quickly grabbing the cash and pushing the CD into the tourist’s awaiting hands, he snaps the case closed and starts running.

He’s done this a million times – or so it seems – before, and he knows which route to take in order to disappear. Having a guitar in one hand and a guitar case in the other makes it quite difficult to run through a crowd without hitting anyone, but he finds his usual hiding place. He crouches down and opens the case, hands quickly picking up the bills and coins and stuffing them in his pocket. He considers leaving the guitar, but can’t get himself to do it. The guitar means too much to him and the thought of it being gone when he returns breaks his heart.

“Oi, you,” says a voice from the other end of the street. Dave looks up and his heart skips a beat when he realizes that he’s been caught. The policemen are walking toward him, both of them holding their truncheons, beating the sticks against their palms in a threatening manner. Dave spares them one glance before he starts running again, quickly pulling the guitar strap over his head. He knows how painful being hit by a truncheon can be and he’s in no hurry to repeat that experience.

Sometimes, it feels like he’s always running. It could be running away from or toward something, but he’s always _running_. His guitar is resting on his back, bumping awkwardly against his back and upper thigh as he sprints away from the police. The strap around his shoulder is made of old, worn leather that’s been sown together here and there to strengthen it, because it’s what keeps him from accidentally dropping the guitar; from dropping his livelihood.

He stops when he reaches a corner and allows himself the luxury of taking a break. He leans forward, hands resting just above his knees as he pants heavily, trying to catch his breath. Considering how often he ends up running from the police, he’s in poor shape, and the slight burn in the side of his stomach only confirms his notions of how he should probably exercise more regularly. Andy keeps telling him that, and even Neal’s made a comment or two about his beer belly.

“Stop him!” someone yells, and Dave looks back over his shoulder at the policemen closing in on him. He quickly scans the buildings for an escape, a small smile gracing his lips when he recognizes the area that he has somehow wormed his way into. He straightens up and goes to the left, quickly darting through a crowd of people before slipping unseen inside the second door. It’s uninhabited and it shows. The paint is peeling off the walls and some of the steps are broken. With one hand on the railing and the other on the wall, he uses what’s left of his strength to swing almost gracefully over the bad steps.

From the window on the third floor, he watches as the guards run past the building and down the street. He continues watching until they round a corner, going back towards the more populated part of the city again.

“Fuck, that was close,” he mutters, using the back of his hand to wipe away the sweat from his forehead. Yes, he definitely needs to get into shape, though what he really wants right now is just a cold beer. _Tomorrow_ , he silently promises himself, _tomorrow is a good day to start living healthier and exercise._

He trudges down the stairs again, jumping over the bad steps. He’s so focused on not getting the steps all mixed up that he doesn’t see the boy in front of him until it’s too late. They collide together in the door-opening leading out to the street, the boy tumbling backwards and Dave automatically reaching out to stop him from falling – naturally, they _both_ end up falling because Dave can be kind of a klutz sometimes and accidentally grabs the boy so hard that they both fall the other way, inside the building. Dave lands on his guitar, the old instrument breaking underneath his weight, and the boy falls on top of him.

Dave groans, his head falling back. There went his only way of earning money. He hopes it’s fixable, because he can’t afford to buy a new guitar any time soon.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” says the boy, flailing with his hands, trying to get up and away from Dave. Dave’s eyes open and he looks at the boy, and _oh_.

“Fuck,” he says, wincing as pain erupts up his spine when he tries to sit up. It’s not easy, especially not with a broken guitar underneath him and a boy in his lap. Dainty, sun-kissed hands grab his shoulders, and Dave momentarily forgets how to breathe.

“Oh, gosh. Are you okay? I mean, obviously you’re not okay. Oh my heck. I’m truly sorry. They were after me and I… Are you okay?” the boy rambles, voice breaking, and Dave can’t help but smile at the adorableness. The boy sounds so heartbroken and honest. Dave looks at the mouth and has another ‘oh’ moment. Because seriously, _oh_.

“Err, yes,” he manages to say, blinking, trying to focus on something other than red, full lips. _Kissable lips_ , he thinks, as his eyes once again stray to the mouth. “Sorry, yes. I’m perfectly well. No broken bones–” he stretches his arms to prove a point, which only ends up with them sitting even closer, “–so honestly, no need to apologize.”

“I’ll, er, I’ll pay for the reparations of your guitar,” the boy says, his voice no louder than a whisper. Dave can feel that warm breath on his chin, sending shivers down his back, which, ouch. That kind of hurts a little.

Dave stares, surprised and slightly confused. He looks down and takes in the boy’s clothing and frowns. He hardly looks like he can afford the reparations of the guitar seeing as he’s dressed in tatters, much like Dave is, and Dave can definitely not afford it.

“No, that’s okay,” he says. “I have some money saved up, no need to worry about it. I suppose it was mostly my fault anyway, not watching my step and running straight into you.”

Then, “Wait, why were they after you?” he asks, confused, though the boy makes no indication that he even hears the question. Instead, he tries to stand and Dave helps him up to the best of his abilities. He feels more than hears as the guitar breaks a little more under his weight, but at the moment his mind couldn’t be farther from the guitar. Dave stands up as well, towering over the boy who looks petite and exotic. Dave’s heart skips a beat and this time it’s not from fear but from being awestruck.

“But- but I really ought to pay. It was my fault. I should compensate you…”

And honestly, who can blame Dave when he says, “Have dinner with me.”

“Um,” says the boy, cheeks coloring slightly, eyes averting for a couple of seconds before a pink tongue darts out to run over the lips. Dave watches, mesmerized.

“I’m David Cook, most people call me Dave, though,” he says, introducing himself. The boy looks baffled at Dave’s outstretched hand, almost as if he’s uncertain as to what to do with it.

“And you are…” prompts Dave when no introduction is being made.

“Archie,” utters the boy suddenly, shyly looking down, completely ignoring Dave’s hand. Dave feels a bit stupid, but he stubbornly refuses to pull his hand back, determined to do this properly. He ignores the tiny voice in his head that informs him that this is slightly awkward and he should probably pull his hand back again.

“Archie,” Dave repeats, liking the way the name sounds rolling off his tongue. “Hi Archie, I’m Dave.” He makes a small wave with his hand, silently letting the boy know that they have yet to be appropriately introduced. He may not be all rich and fancy, but he has manners and his mom would tan his hide if he didn’t at least try.

Archie glances nervously at Dave’s hand for a couple of seconds before reaching out, a timid hand clasping Dave’s in a brief handshake. Too brief, if you ask Dave.

“Pleasure to meet you, Dave,” says Archie, looking into Dave’s eyes for a split second before averting his gaze again.

“The pleasure is all mine,” says Dave and truly means it.

 

*

 

Some would probably say that Dave falls in love rather easily. True, he has to admit that he has more than once experienced _true love at first sight_ , but this time it’s the real deal. He knows that from deep within – if the way his heart started to beat faster and stop at the same time is any hint – and he couldn’t care less what Neal thinks.

“Again?” asks Neal, lifting an eyebrow, clearly not amused or at all happy that Dave has managed to find _the one_ at the same time as he managed to break his guitar. Neal looks at the pieces of wood on the floor, probably already trying to figure out how to fix it, because that’s what Neal does – he fixes things. Guitars, cars, Dave’s messed up life when he needs it. Neal is his go-to guy in most situations. Except for love. Neal is as romantic as a… well, whatever that doesn’t seem to care all too much about affection and romance and _love_.

“I’m sure,” he says, pressing the palms of his hands together, the tips of his fingers resting against his bottom lip, almost as if praying. “You should’ve seen him, Neal. He was gorgeous and kind and that smile and his hair–”

“How do you even know he’s kind?” interrupts Neal, voice dripping with just a tad of sarcasm as he gives the guitar a pointed glance, almost as if saying that _the boy broke your guitar, so how can he be kind?_. Dave ignores him and instead turns to Andy who has yet to make a comment about Dave’s new romantic interest.

“–his hair,” he says, repeating himself, “was dark and looked so soft. My fingers just itched to touch it; to run through it. But I didn’t, of course.”

“No, I should hope you didn’t,” says Andy, scratching his chin, looking thoughtful. “That would’ve just been creepy. He would’ve had you arrested for like, I dunno’, sexual harassment or something within seconds.”

Dave ignores that comment too, and sits down on the old sofa, doing his best not to cough when the air is filled with dust and other highly un-hygienic things. They really ought to get a new couch. One that doesn’t come from the nearest garbage container, like this one did.

Neal throws himself down next to Dave and another puff of dirt and dust twirls into the air, making Dave’s throat and nose itch. He doesn’t cough, though, determined not to give Neal the satisfaction of annoying him.

“Can you fix it?” asks Andy, and Dave looks up to see that Andy is gesturing at the broken guitar. It’s not that bad, actually. It looks like a clean break and Dave has faith in Neal’s guitar fixing skills.

“He just seemed… perfect,” says Dave, mostly to himself as Neal and Andy both focus on his guitar. “But I probably won’t see him again. I mean, I invited him to dinner, and he did agree to come, but yeah.” Andy hums in agreement and Dave sighs sadly, leaning back into the couch and tries to focus on his current problem: the guitar.

“What the fuck did you do to it?” asks Neal, not even looking at Dave as he starts working on fixing the broken instrument. Dave is kind of jealous at how quick and efficient Neal works, slender tattooed fingers running over the wood so fast that Dave can hardly keep up with what he’s doing.

“It looks like someone sat on it,” comments Andy suddenly, taking a swig from his beer, green bottle raised to his lips. Okay, so maybe the break isn’t as clean as Dave would have liked it to be, but still, it definitely doesn’t look like someone sat on it.

“What, no–”

“Fuck yes, it does,” agrees Neal, eying Dave suspiciously.

“Where’s my beer?” asks Dave, trying to change the topic. Andy just snorts and takes another mouthful and turns on the TV. There’s snow on most of the channels, and those that do show up have this weird black line right in the middle. Thankfully, it’s a line that you hardly even notice once you get used to it being there. When Dave becomes famous, he’s so going to buy a new TV.

“I fell on it,” he finally admits after a couple of long, silent moments. This piece of information makes Neal look up from what he’s doing, hands hovering midair over the guitar that has momentarily been forgotten.

“Dude, how the fuck can you fall on a guitar?”

“Well, I ran straight into Archie – or more like, he ran into me, and he started to fall so I grabbed his arms and then I fell and it was all just one big heap of legs and arms tangled together and…” Dave takes a deep breathe.

“And let me guess,” says Andy, “this guy is the love of your life, am I right?”

“Yes!” says Dave, one hand waving in the air as if proving his point. “It was like, meant to be, or some shit like that. Seriously. He’s the one, I’m telling you.”

“The one who broke your guitar, yes.”

Dave could really do without Neal’s comments.

“Well, yes, but that’s not what I meant. Plus, it was hardly his fault. I was the one who landed on it. He even offered to pay for it, but I said no. I mean, I couldn’t take his money, I think he needed it more than I did, and I have you Neal, to fix it for me, so it’s all good.”

“Dude,” is all Andy says. Neal doesn’t even bother to comment this time, but judging from the looks he’s giving Dave, it’s probably for the best that he’s keeping his comments to himself.

 

*

 

The thought of being stood up has definitely crossed his mind, but he hopes with every fiber of his body that Archie will show up. Dave’s been looking forward to this date. He borrowed a pair of Neal’s dark jeans, which might as well have been Dave’s seeing as he’s the one using them the most, much to Neal’s chagrin. He’d even gone all out and borrowed a pair of Andy’s shoes. He probably should have asked first, but he’s sure Andy won’t mind too terribly. And if he does, it’ll be too late to do anything about it.

He even let Carly re-do his hair when Johns had vetoed against him going out with a mohawk. He had totally rocked the mohawk, but he figures that Johns knows what he’s talking about, being a suave Aussie who’s had more success with the ladies than Dave. True, Dave prefers guys, but that’s beside the point. Johns has experience with this sort of stuff – or so he claims. Dave’s not so sure, but for this he’s willing to trust his friend, or really, trust Carly who’d agreed with Johns.

He crosses the square, heading toward the restaurant. It’s not the most extravagant one out there, but the food is amazing. No one can cook quite like Brooke can, and just the thought of her cooking makes his stomach growl. Also, instead of paying full price, which he totally can’t, she lets him get away with paying whatever he can afford. Sometimes, he even goes in on Saturdays and helps her out and in return gets paid in food.

Dave leans up against the wall right next to the sign, scratching his chin, waiting for Archie. He briefly wonders if he should’ve shaven before coming here, but Carly had claimed he looked sexy, so he’d kept it. Now he wonders – and hopes – that Archie will find it sexy too.

He buries his hands in his jacket pockets, his fingers a bit cold – not due to the weather but to being nervous. His hands manage to stay in his pockets for approximately twenty seconds before he feels a bit jumpy again. In order to stay calm, he runs a hand through his hair. It takes him a moment before he realizes that running fingers through the hair is probably not the best thing to do. He glances in the window and notices his hair now looks like he's just rolled out of bed.

His hand is still somewhat buried in his hair, attempting to fix it, when he sees Archie walking down the street, coming closer with every step. He straightens up, pushing his chest slightly forward, hand automatically going up to scratch the back of his neck, without doubt looking awkward and not as sexy as he was aiming for.

"Um," says Archie when he stops in front of Dave. Dave drops his hand, letting it fall down along his side.

"Archie, hi!" he says, grinning widely. Part of him wants to hug Archie, pull the boy close and breathe him in. He doesn’t, though, not wanting to overstep some boundaries or whatnot. Personally, he’s all for hugs, but he has a feeling that Archie isn’t that big a fan of them, so he fights down the urge and instead goes for the awkward nod with the head. This is their first date, after all, and he doesn’t want to scare Archie away.

Archie, in return, looks shyly at him through his long, dark eyelashes. "Um, hello Dave," says Archie, looking down, shifting shyly on his feet, "You look nice.”

Dave looks down too, then up again. He looks like he normally does. Jeans (Neal’s), long-sleeve shirt underneath the t-shirt, jacket and worn shoes that were once black but now look a bit darkish grey (Andy’s). Then he looks at Archie, really looks at him, and smiles.

" _You_ look nice," he says. His fingers itch to reach out and touch the strip of skin that isn’t covered by the black scarf that’s wrapped around Archie’s neck in a sort of delicate way. Archie looks positively handsome; his skin looks soft, and his hair dark and kind of shiny. His clothes look surprisingly new and expensive. He can’t see the labels, but still, Dave can’t help but wonder where Archie got it from.

Archie smiles shyly, looking at Dave through his long lashes, and fuck he looks so innocent and _perfect_ that Dave completely forgets everything.

“I’m glad you came,” says Dave, stuffing his hands down in his pockets once more, trying his damnedest not to reach out and grab Archie’s hand again and pet it like he kind of wants to.

“Um, me too,” says Archie, blushing. Dave swallows and clears his throat, hand going up to scratch the back of his neck.

“Shall we?” he asks, gesturing for Archie to go first. Archie nods and Dave leads him to the door. The restaurant is packed, the room practically humming from all the conversations taking place, and the temperature is pleasantly warm. Everywhere they look, couples and families are talking and smiling, and Dave feels brave enough to walk a bit closer to Archie; feels brave enough to put his hand on Archie’s shoulder, steering the younger male through the room to the table that Brooke had promised to save for them.

“I hope this is okay,” he says as he holds out Archie’s chair for him like a true gentleman would. A waiter appears next to the table, placing the two menu cards in front of them.

“Seems like a great place,” says Archie, blushing. Seriously, Dave can’t get enough of that blush. It’s quite positively the most endearing thing he has ever seen and it makes him feel all warm and tingly inside. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“I love this place. Please, order whatever you want, my treat,” he says, giving Archie what he hopes is his most confident smile.

“Um,” says Archie, looking at the menu card. Dave opens his as well even though he already knows what he wants. “Are you sure?” asks Archie, voice filled with uncertainty. “I mean, um, it’s a bit, um, pricey? We can go–”

“I’m sure,” he interrupts quickly, trying not to sound too worried about the price. It is an expensive place – or at least too expensive for a guy like him who owns nothing and busks for money to make the day go around – but he’s determined to give Archie the best and this place is the best, even if he has to wash dishes for the next month to pay for it.

“I can pay for my own,” tries Archie, and Dave’s heart swells with admiration of the offer, unrealistic, as it seems. After all, Archie can’t afford it that much is clear. They did meet in an abandoned building, both running from the police.

“No, you don’t have to do that. I invited you out, so I’m the one paying for it.”

“But I don’t mind–”

“I insist,” says Dave, reaching out and placing his hand on top of Archie’s, trying to still the frantic flipping of the menu card. Dave has never seen anyone read a menu card that fast, and he seriously doubts that Archie even knows what they serve here at the restaurant. Archie’s hand stops moving and Dave quickly withdraws his hand, afraid that he’s crossed a line or moved too fast.

“But really,” says Archie finally after a couple of silent seconds, pink tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip. Dave watches, transfixed. He swallows a couple of times, words on the tip of his tongue though they never actually leaving his mouth. What gets to him the most is the fact that Archie probably doesn’t even know the effect it has on Dave; doesn’t know that watching Archie’s tongue makes him have not so innocent thoughts about what he would like to do if they were alone in the room right now. Archie sighs and continues, “I _can_ pay for my own.”

“But I invited you out on a _date_ ,” says Dave, emphasizing the word date, hoping that Archie will get it. He watches Archie’s face, and smiles when he sees the reaction he was hoping for as the words seem to settle in. He continues, “I _want_ to pay.”

“Oh, um,” says Archie, blushing again, “thanks?”

Dave nods, grinning widely. Neal usably tells him that it makes him look like a dork when he smiles like that, but he can’t help himself. However, it doesn’t seem to be a problem, because Archie in return flushes a deeper red and looks down shyly. Dave briefly wonders how far down the blush goes, if it covers more than just his face and neck.

The food is awesome like Dave knew it would be – after all, it’s Brooke who made it – and the evening is probably one of Dave’s favorite dates ever in all of his dating history. Archie didn’t talk much in the beginning, stammering and blushing every time Dave even looked at the boy, but once Dave started talking about music, Archie participated more.

Now, as they’re finishing their desserts, Dave can’t help but feel that he has found _the one_. They have surprisingly much in common and Dave loves to listen to Archie talk about music. The dark-haired boy uses his hands when he talks, gesturing all over the place, and Dave can’t help but smile.

“I love that song,” Dave exclaims and Archie nods eagerly along, cheeks red and eyes bright with excitement.

“Me too,” says Archie. Their eyes lock and for the longest moment ever, Dave finds himself enthralled and unable to tear his gaze away. Archie breathes shallowly and Dave’s heart skips a beat. They’re interrupted by Brooke who appears next to their table, her wide smile lighting up the room like a ray of sunshine.

“Davey…” she says and stops, her words trailing off like she’s forgotten what she was about to say. Dave and Archie both look at her. Dave is about to go in for a hug when Brooke surprises him by leaning down to hug Archie like a long-time-no-see kind of friend.

“You know each other?” asks Dave, one eyebrow raised in confusion. He was under the assumption that Archie had never been here before, though if he thinks back and goes through everything they have said during the evening, they never really talked about it – or, Dave never asked and Archie never shared the information.

“Why, of course,” says Brooke, throwing one arm casually around Archie’s shoulder. Dave knows he shouldn’t, but he can’t help but feel a bit envious. “Remember that demo I made a couple of years ago?”

And Dave does remember the demo. He, along with Neal and Andy, had snuck in at the party, hoping to find Mr. Archuleta, probably the best producer in the music industry, and persuade him to help them with their own demo. Unfortunately, the producers, including Mr. Archuleta, had already left by the time they made it there, and instead he had ended up talking with Brooke. It was also at this party that he had met Johns and Carly for the first time.

“I remember, yes,” he says, nodding slowly, still not entirely sure if he follows what she means.

“Well, Mr. Archuleta helped me finance the restaurant when I realized that I’d rather spend my time on cooking than pursuing a life as a singer.”

“Okay?” he says, looking from Brooke to Archie, then back at Brooke again.

“Um,” says Archie, “I’m, um, he’s my dad?” It kind of sounds like a question, as if Archie isn’t sure that what he’s saying is correct, and somehow that only confuses Dave even more.

“Wait. Mr. Archuleta is your _dad_?” he asks, head tilting slightly to the side as he tries to process the new information. Archie nods and Brooke squeezes Archie’s shoulder comforting.

“Yes, I’m David Archuleta, though my friends usually just call me Archie.”

“I should go back to the kitchen, consider this meal my treat,” she says, kissing first Archie on the cheek and then walking around the table to pat Dave on the shoulder twice. Dave is tempted to reach out and grab her hand, forcing her to stay put, but he doesn’t. Instead, he just looks at Archie, trying to figure out what to say.

“Wow,” he says, suddenly realizing that this means that Archie isn’t, well, poor, like him, and that Archie could probably afford this meal, which the dark-haired boy had tried to tell him but Dave had completely ignored. “But you were dressed in tatters,” he says, snapping his fingers twice before lifting his finger, trying to recall his first impression of Archie.

“Um, oh, yeah. I did. It was kind of an accident?”

“What, how can you end up wearing something like that on accident?”

“Well,” starts Archie, and then pauses as if he’s trying to choose his words. “I was out with a friend, Danny, and they were his clothes? And um, well, we kind of got lost and then suddenly he was gone, and, err, well.”

Dave is still kind of confused, though not as much as before. He gets it now, sort of.

“Really, it was all Danny’s fault. There was this party and he assured me that we had to dress like that and, um, yes. Well, you kind of know the rest, I think?”

Dave nods, not sure what else to do. He starts to get up, and Archie quickly stumbles out of his chair as well.

“Are you mad now?” asks Archie, looking down at the half-eaten dessert, eyes big and sad. Dave can’t find it in his heart to be mad, not really. After all, this was partly his fault.

Dave walks around the table and swiftly reaches out, grabbing Archie’s hand in his. He can feel that Archie wants to pull his hand back, but he doesn’t, which is what’s important. No, Dave isn’t mad at Archie. He assumed, and he only has himself to blame for that… Besides, it _feels_ right to hold Archie’s hand, like they were meant to be together.

“Let’s go,” he says, and they leave the restaurant in silence, walking hand in hand, only breaking contact to put on their jackets. Dave quickly grabs Archie’s hand again as soon as they’re both wearing their jackets, and this time he can feel Archie relaxing, like he’s comfortable holding Dave’s hand now. Like maybe he feels the connection between them too. Dave hopes that he does.

Darkness has settled over the square once they get outside. It’s cold and the air is filled with frost, almost like it’s about to snow. Archie’s hand feels nice and warm, and Dave gives it a gentle squeeze before pulling the boy closer.

“For warmth,” he reasons, but really, he just wants to be closer to Archie.

“Thanks for, um, inviting me,” whispers Archie.

“I wanted to see you again,” he says back, voice no louder than a whisper as well. Dave has no idea why they’re whispering, but it kind of seems appropriate in this sort of weather.

“I should probably get home,” says Archie, still in a hushed tone.

“Go out with me again tomorrow,” Dave says. Archie looks up at him, surprised.

“Um, really?”

“I’d like that, yes.”

“Oh gosh. Um, sure, I mean yes.”

“Excellent.” Dave totally means to kiss Archie’s cheek, and it’s so not his fault that Archie chooses that exact moment to turn his head up, so instead of kissing his cheek Dave manages to place a chaste kiss on Archie’s lips instead.

“Oh,” utters Archie, lips forming a silent _o_.

“Sorry, I totally didn’t mean to do that,” he says, and can’t help but smile. Archie, however, looks crestfallen at Dave’s words. He quickly realizes his mistake, “I mean, I’m glad it happened, but I didn’t mean to actually kiss you.”

Archie looks up, a small smile gracing his lips. “I, I liked it too.”

“Can I?” asks Dave, looking from Archie’s eyes down to his full, red lips and then back up to his eyes again, silently requesting permission to do it again, only this time intentionally.

“Um, ye–”

Dave cuts off Archie’s words by kissing him. He knows that it’s a bit too forward on a first date, but he honestly couldn’t care less about that now. He lets go of Archie’s hand and uses both of his to touch Archie’s cheeks, holding his face between his palms. Archie’s hands, in return, grab onto Dave’s jacket, fingers twisting and burying themselves in the fabric, tugging slightly whenever he needs a mouthful of air before they can continue again.

By the time they do detangle themselves from each other, Dave has no idea how long they have been standing in the middle of the square under a lamplight, kissing. It’s snowing when they do break off for air, both of them gasping as tiny snowflakes falls down on them. A soft, white flake lands on Archie’s left cheek, and Dave leans in and kisses it away.

“Tomorrow then?” he asks and Archie nods and smiles, blushing slightly under Dave’s gaze, which Dave finds adorable.

He walks Archie to the bus, and waits until it drives away.

Andy and Neal are bickering over the remote control to the TV when he gets home. He ignores their looks once they realize that he’s standing in the room, cheeks red and a stupid smile on his face. He even ignores Neal’s comments and Andy’s inquiring of how the date went.

“I fixed your guitar, if you wanted to know,” huffs Neal finally, once he realizes that Dave is not about to give in and fire back snide comments like he usually does.

He has another date with Archie tomorrow and he’s got his guitar again. There’s nothing more that he wants right now.

He goes to bed that night and dreams of letting his fingers run over the strings of his guitar and of serenading Archie, but mostly, he just dreams of kissing Archie again.

_fin._


End file.
